


Finish (What You Started)

by pornographicrainbowlegs



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Begging, Cursed Sam, Dirty Talk, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Wincest - Freeform, s1 canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pornographicrainbowlegs/pseuds/pornographicrainbowlegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>A rash of mysterious disappearances in Vancleave, Mississippi has left dozens of animals uncared for. The logical step is that these people moved and simply left their pets behind. But that’s just what the government wants you to think. But when you really think about it, deep down, you know: soylent green is people. And by that, of course, we mean that the dogs in the shelter are people. And not people in the sense that every animal should be treated kindly and not abused – though we do mean that, too. We mean that the pets are the missing persons. Consider that the next time you wish to adopt a furry friend. Until next time, remember to spay and neuter your pets!</i>
</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Upon closer inspection, “Oh my god. It’s a shrunken dog head!”</i></p><p> </p><p><i>Dean rushes in, glass and cereal crunching beneath his feet. “Seriously? Why do we always have to have the weird ones?”</i><br/>...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finish (What You Started)

**Author's Note:**

> AN - I had an awful time deciding the timeline for this. I want it to be somewhere about S1, but the knowledge they have really comes from an episode in S3, so that happened.
> 
> Unbeta'd - and not that I get extra credit, but I swear I've read through this 1000 times by now so hopefully there aren't too many mistakes! But if you see any, please point them out and I'll fix it asap!
> 
> Also, this is a universe introduction because I wanted to write lots of porn involving what happens to Sam at the end of the story.
> 
> Also, I hope to eventually come up with a better title, but for now this is what you're stuck with :)

It’s barely morning when Dean busts back into the motel room with coffee and a paper. “So I got a hunt for us, Sammy boy,” Dean boldly states as he tosses a newspaper on the bed.

Sam groans and wipes his hand down his face to rid it of drool. “Good morning to you too, asshole,” he says and glances at the headline MISSING PERSONS AND FURRY FRIENDS. Sniggering under his breath, he asks, “Dean, since when do we consider the National Enquirer a trustworthy resource? Also, is one of those for me?”

“Just read it,” Dean replies, handing Sam his coffee before downing his own and starting to pack up the duffels.

Sam sips the coffee, grimacing at the bitterness, and pulls the newspaper closer and reads the article. 

_A rash of mysterious disappearances in Vancleave, Mississippi has left dozens of animals uncared for. The logical step is that these people moved and simply left their pets behind. But that’s just what the government wants you to think. But when you really think about it, deep down, you know: soylent green is people. And by that, of course, we mean that the dogs in the shelter are people. And not people in the sense that every animal should be treated kindly and not abused – though we do mean that, too. We mean that the pets are the missing persons. Consider that the next time you wish to adopt a furry friend. Until next time, remember to spay and neuter your pets!_

“Okay, so some people are missing and some crack pot thinks some dogs are the missing people? Yes, Dean, I agree. We should race down to,” he searches the article again with his finger and pokes at the page emphatically before continuing, “Vancleave to check this out.”

“Good, glad you agree,” Dean replies, zipping up the duffel.

Perturbed, Sam splutters, “No, that was all sarcasm, Dean. This article is bullshit. Where are we really off to?”

Dean smiles. “We’re checking out some humans turned flea bags.”

“What part of unreliable resource are you not getting,” Sam gestures with the paper, surprise and more than a smidgen of anger entering his tone.

“No, you’re totally right. National Enquirer is full of shit. But Bobby isn’t,” Dean reassures.

“Why didn’t you say that, asshole?” Sam snaps.

“Because why miss an opportunity to fuck with you,” Dean laughs out.

Sam sulks indignantly and slaps the paper down on the bed next to him before finishing his coffee and getting up to help Dean pack up the room. It doesn’t take long, but Dean still gives him shit for the particular way Sam’s got about checking out of motels. He’s lost too many pairs of socks to not strip the beds, and they have never been able to afford to tip so he always folds them nice for the staff.

“You ready yet, princess?” Dean asks from his spot leaning against the door. Sam answers with a glare as he shoulders his duffle and follows his brother out. He shoves his bag in the back seat before taking his place shotgun next to his brother, settling in for a long drive.

“So what did Bobby say, anyway?” Sam asks when they’re a few miles out of town. 

“Apparently,” Dean emphasizes, “he got a call from Frank, one of his buddies in the area. Said he went to check on his friend when all he found in the house was some dog. Bobby wasn’t too clear on the details on how, but apparently the guy thinks this dog was his friend and called Bobby. We’re going out as a favor.” Dean just shrugs.

“I guess,” Sam shrugs back. “Seems kind of weak to me.”

“We’ve investigated weaker.”

The drive is downright boring – as are most of their long car trips. Dean gets to listen to his music while Sam reads up on the latest lore to pass the time, updating Dean with the important shit that might come in handy if they ever get into a life or death situation involving whatever book he’s got in his hands. Eventually, Dean gets too bored listening to Sam’s fun facts and starts a new game.

“Knock it off,” Sam swats at the hand Dean’s got stretched across the seat and resting on Sam’s knee.

“What?” Dean asks innocently, replacing his hand and leisurely massaging his way up Sam’s thigh. His progress is slow, alternating between really working into Sam’s muscle and a delicate teasing touch before moving on.

Sam tries to ignore his brother for a few moments, but it gets harder the higher up Dean’s hand reaches. “You’re driving.” Sam coughs to cover a moan and tries again to de-Dean-ify himself.

“So?” Dean replies, returning his hand and continuing his progress.

“So unless you’re going to finish the job you’re starting, put your hand back where it belongs.”

Dean laughs heartily, but doesn’t pull his hand back. “What? Can’t handle a little teasing?”

Sam shoots a glare across the seats. “It’s not ‘a little teasing’, Dean,” he spits his brother’s name. “Not when you ‘a little tease’ me to the edge and then leave me hanging right before we have to be in public.”

“You love it,” Dean says, shrugging and moving his hand up a little more. The bulge in Sam’s pants is becoming more obvious, as is the incriminating flush making its way up his cheeks. “See?” Dean replies smugly.

“Just –“ Sam tries breathlessly to swallow another moan before continuing, “actually finish me off this time? Please?”

“Aw, don’t you just beg so pretty.” Dean’s fingers are almost to Sam’s crotch. He still takes his time, teasing just the way Sam pretends to hate. The little groans and moans coming from his brother are almost distracting enough to force Dean to pull over. But he’s had practice at this. Dean doesn’t have to look at his brother to know the utterly debauched look that’s currently on his face while he squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his stomach muscles around the zings of pleasure Dean’s fingers bring him.

Dean finally reaches the button on Sam’s jeans and makes quick work of it and the zipper, drawing them apart and down to reveal Sam’s boxers. Dean steals a look. “You know, I think you’d look good with some new underwear,” he says off handed as he draws the elastic down to expose the hard cock beneath. “Maybe something black, something lacy. Something frilly with lots of bows. Maybe throw in a garter belt. Yeah, I bet you’d look good.”

“Shut up and jerk me off already,” Sam requests, trying not to let the need in his tone turn into begging.

“Sure thing, princess,” Dean replies, gripping his brother’s dick. The hitch in Sam’s breath and resulting whimper is wickedly hot. Dean suppresses a moan himself and continues gliding his hand up and down, slowing and quickening his pace to get the desired reaction of getting his brother close and then backing off to make it last longer.

Sam’s hips begin to follow Dean’s hand, humping up into the fist around his cock shamelessly trying to speed things up. “Please, Dean,” he breaks down and begs when he can’t take it any longer. “Please, please just do it, please finish me off, please,” he begs.

Dean smirks at the victory and finally grips his brother, speeding the pumping of his fist finally fast enough to cause Sam to erupt a final surge of moans before he is coming beside his brother. The moans taper off as the orgasm subsides and his breathing returns to mostly normal. “Napkins are in the glove box,” Dean says, leer firmly on his face. He brings his hand up to his lips and sucks off the little bit of come that landed on his fingers.

“Jerk,” Sam shoots, but leans forward to grab a napkin to clean himself up and then tucks himself back into his boxers and button up his jeans. Once he’s settled, he turns to his brother. “Want me to…” he trails off.

“Nah, just owe me one tonight when we check in,” Dean winks.

Sam smiles. “Okay.” 

It’s barely lunch time when they pull into Vancleave but they stop at a drive through before meeting up with Frank at his house. “I appreciate you boys coming out,” Frank says looking them both in the eyes and shaking their hands with a strong grip. Frank is a stout man about Bobby’s age who seems to be holding things together quite well considering what he thinks he’s seen.

“No problem,” Sam offers as they walk over the threshold to Frank’s home. “So what’s the scoop then?”

“Well, I guess I might as well show you,” Frank says, retreating back into his home expecting his guests to follow. Sam shuts the door behind them before they trail after Frank down the hallway. Neither do too much snooping as they walk through the house, but the pictures on the wall of Frank holding some large fish and a deer carcass line the walls are kind of hard to miss

They come to a stop when the hallway exposes a cozy living room. There is a brown, suede couch and matching loveseat, and plenty more trophy pictures to line the wood paneled walls. Even knowing to expect a dog, the pug lying on the couch is still a surprise.

“Boys,” he calls their attention with a wave of his arm in the dog’s direction, “meet Jim.” Jim raises his head from his paws, but his droopy eyes still make the poor thing look pathetic.

“So, uh, how do you know it’s Jim?” Dean asks, going for the direct approach rather than tact. Sam shoots him a warning look at the same time that Jim starts barking madly. Dean holds his arms out in surrender. “Whoa, whoa, no disrespect.”

“None taken,” Frank says, tight mouthed in a clear lie.

“Any idea how this happened?” Sam tries to regain face.

“’bout two days ago, Jim and I were supposed to do some fishing, but he didn’t show at the diner for breakfast so I went looking for him. Found the dog waiting inside his front door. Jim’s allergic to dogs,” Frank says, coming around to Sam a bit friendlier than his brother. Jim sneezes as if on cue.

“I see,” Sam considers, face contorting in sympathy. “Did you notice anything odd over the last couple of days? Any new people he hung around with or odd behaviors?”

Frank scrunches his face in thought but it doesn’t take long to reply with an unhelpful, “No, not that I can recall.”

Dean lets out a choked huff before Sam can jab his elbow into his stomach to shut him up. Frank raises his eyebrows. Jim lets out another growl, followed closely by another sneeze. “Then I think we better start by searching Jim’s house,” Sam determines. “Maybe there’s some evidence hanging around.”

“Good idea,” Frank replies. “Jim’s house is just up the street, number 541. The key is under the doormat.”

“Thanks, and we’ll be in touch with any news,” Sam says. The two walk back down the hall and exit Frank’s house. Once outside, Sam takes the opportunity to elbow Dean in the ribs. “Could you have been any ruder?” he grumbles as the two walk down the driveway to the Impala parked on the street.

“Probably, but I was a little worried Jim would mistake me for a mailman,” Dean jokes, rubbing at the sore spot on his ribs.

“That isn’t funny, Dean.”

They move the car up the road a few houses. Sam grabs the key from under the mat and the two make their way inside. Jim’s house is laid out very similarly to Frank’s. The long hallway to the living room is covered in trophy pictures of fish and deer, just like Frank’s. The living room doesn’t offer much by way of evidence, so the two pass for the time being, making their way instead to the kitchen.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here,” Dean says as they round the corner.

There are broken dishes and food scattered about the counter and floor. A tall counter chair is tipped over. The ceiling light is bused out, glass sprayed all over the area below. An object, sitting in the shattered remains of a cereal bowl, caught both their attentions. Watching his step, Sam moved in for a better look.

Upon closer inspection, “Oh my god. It’s a shrunken dog head!”

Dean rushes in, glass and cereal crunching beneath his feet. “Seriously? Why do we always have to have the weird ones?” He reaches his hand out, only to be slapped away by Sam.

“Don’t touch it,” Sam hisses. “It’s probably a cursed object. You’ll end up a dog like Jim.”

Dean pulls his hand close to his chest, sulking. “Alright, genius boy. What do we do with it?”

Sam scrunches his face in thought. “Normally, I’d say curse box.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in that statement.”

“But if all we do is contain it, there’s no way Jim will turn back into a human. We have to break the curse.”

“Of course we do,” Dean gripes, then starts opening random cupboards.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks.

“Finding something to contain the object.”

“Fine, while you do that, I’ll call Frank.”

The update to Frank is accompanied by a “good luck and be careful”. Sam appreciates the sentiment and waits for Dean to come out of the house, Tupperware of dog head in hand. He locks the door and stores the key back under the mat. “Gotta call Bobby next. He’ll know the ritual for a cursed object.”

“Good idea,” Dean says.

Sam dials the number and the two climb into the Impala. Dean stores the bucket in the back seat. “Singer Salvage,” Bobby answers.

“Hey Bobby,” Sam greets. “I need a ritual to get rid of a cursed object. It’s a dog head that we think is the culprit for turning Jim canine.”

“Hello to you, too,” Bobby grouses. “That’s a tall order there, Sam. Cursed objects aren’t something to mess around with.”

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t see any other way to make Jim human again except to break the curse.”

“You have a point,” Bobby concedes. “Let me see what I can dig up. I’ll email you when I find something.”

While Sam was talking to Bobby, Dean had made his way to the only motel in town. Sam waits in the car while Dean checks them in. “Bobby’s going to email it to us in a while,” Sam updates his brother upon his return.

“Cool, I call first shower.”

Dean re-parks closer to their room. Sam grabs his duffle and the container of dog head from the back seat before making his way to the motel room, Dean a few steps ahead of him already had the door held open. As Sam brushes passed, Dean reaches down and slaps his brother’s ass. Sam jumps, the dog head rattles in the bucket, duffle sliding off his shoulder to the crook of his elbow. He glares backwards at Dean.

“What?” Dean grins, shutting the door behind him as he enters the room.

“What is it with you and starting something you’re not going to finish?” Sam asks, setting his duffle and the dog head on the bed closest to the door. Dean follows Sam’s lead and sets his own duffle next to the dog head.

“Just because I don’t finish on your schedule doesn’t mean I don’t finish what I start,” Dean replies.

Sam chuckles and flops down on the empty bed. “You do realize that sentence made you sound like you have ED.”

Dean chokes for a second and Sam is almost certain Dean’s comeback will be something along the lines of the “ _You_ have ED” variety. But the choke smoothly morphs to the brotherly teasing face before he states, “You’d know, being the dick trouble expert and all.” Sam’s bitchface transition is swift.

“Oh, shove it up your ass,” Sam snaps. He twists to grab the TV remote from the bedside table. Dean suppresses a laugh.

He digs through his bag loudly and Sam turns the volume to the TV up louder, trying his best to ignore the pompous-acting SOB. Dean finishes in his duffle before wanders over towards Sam, invading his brother’s personal space. Dean bends down low, mouth right next to Sam’s ear before he whispers, “I know something I can shove up _your_ ass,” as he reveals the items he retrieved from his bag – their tube of lube and a condom.

Sam cannot contain the snort. “Oh my god,” he laughs. “That has honestly got to be the worst pickup line anyone’s tried to use on me.” He shoves Dean’s shoulder back to regain his space. Dean responds by tossing the items on the bed and climbing on top of Sam, straddling Sam’s hips and using his arms to pin Sam’s shoulders.

“Don’t tell me it didn’t work,” he says, once again too close and too hot on Sam’s ear. A shiver runs down Sam’s spine at the heat of Dean’s words. Dean takes the opportunity to close the gap and suck on Sam’s earlobe.

Sam lets out a moan as Dean moves on to the spot behind Sam’s ear, then slowly kisses down his neck. Finding words takes effort, but he can’t let Dean win that easily. “I don’t know if I should reward you for such shitty come ons.” It’s breathless and weedy, but Dean backs off for a moment.

“So punish me instead?” he winks, eyebrows lifting and falling for a pervy effect.

“With blue balls, maybe,” Sam snickers. Sam tries again to push his brother off. Dean releases Sam’s shoulders to sit on his heels, effectively trapping Sam’s legs and lining their crotches up perfectly. He uses his newfound leverage to brush their dicks together.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean moans. “Ride me.”

“I don’t see how that’s a punishment,” Sam pants.

“It could be if you did it right,” Dean reasons as he pulls his shirt over his head. The arching motion of his back provides another opportunity for their dicks to rub together through their clothes. “Come on, Sammy, use your imagination,” Dean’s bent down and purring into Sam’s ear again, licking along his earlobe. Sam’s hands grip into the sheets, balling them up in his fists. Dean’s hands gravitate towards Sam’s hips, toying with the hem of his shirt and padding his hipbones with his thumbs. “You could go so slow,” he accentuates low and deep, talking directly into Sam’s ear as his thumbs keep rotating circles on Sam’s hips, bucking his dick gently into Sam’s but preventing Sam’s from meeting his by the pressure of his thumbs. “You can get me all worked up and needy, set your own pace, bring me to the edge and tease me.” Sam’s panting as Dean describes, closing his eyes and imagining it happening, balling the sheets tighter. He groans, muffling the sound by turning his head away from Dean’s assaulting tongue into the pillow. “It’s all up to you, baby boy.”

Sam’s hands release the bunched up sheets and frame around Dean’s cheeks, moving his head at a better angle to kiss his lips. The kiss is deep, with tongues and teeth, interrupted at various points to remove the remainder of their clothes, Dean’s hands always returning back to keep Sam’s hips pinned to the bed. Once naked, Dean’s arms pull at Sam’s shoulders and his leg curls under Sam’s thigh. He uses the leverage to flip them, Sam landing awkwardly on top. “That went smoother in my head,” Dean admits, sheepishly.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Sam mumbles, lips already back on his brothers.

“Bet that sounded hotter in your head, too,” Dean sniggers. The words are barely recognizable through the assault Sam is landing on him. He feels blindly about the bed to find the discarded lube. Uncapping the tube with one hand, he reaches for Sam’s hand with the other. “Want you to open yourself up for me, baby boy,” Dean instructs as he squeezes the tube onto Sam’s hand. “Wanna watch the pretty faces you make.”

Sam moans. He reaches back to play gently at his puckered hole, one finger breaching slowly to the first knuckle. His eyes squeeze shut at the familiar pressure and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “That’s it baby, in and out, nice and slow. Get all stretched out for my cock. Gonna fuck you _so good_.”

Dean searches the bed again for the condom package and uses his teeth to tear open the foil wrapper. He reaches between their bodies to roll the condom on and pumps his dick a few times, unable to take his eyes off the beautiful faces Sam makes. “That feel good, baby?” he asks.

“Uhn, yeah,” Sam grunts, adding another finger. “Not as good as your dick,” he huffs. Dean groans at the admission.

“Then hurry up,” he chides playfully.

Sam adds a third finger and needs to steady himself with his free hand on Dean’s chest. He opens his eyes to watch Dean below him. “No fair,” he complains, nodding to Dean’s hand fisting his own cock.

“Trust me, baby, I’d much rather have your tight ass squeezing around me than my fist.”

Sam moans. “Uhn, then do it already,” he demands breathlessly. He eases his fingers out and repositions his hips over Dean. Dean helps Sam stretch slowly down onto his dick.

“Pushy,” Dean chuffs, but is swallowed by a low sigh as Sam slowly sinks his ass down. “Oh god baby, that feels so good.”

“So close,” Sam whines, eyes closing as he wills his orgasm on.

“Oh no you don’t,” Dean commands, using his right thumb and middle finger to circle around the base of Sam’s penis.

Sam’s whines turn to whimpers and he tries to knock Dean’s hand away. Dean’s left hand gathers Sam’s wrists and pulls. Losing his balance, Sam leans forward to accommodate. “Enough. Now come on and ride me,” Dean orders.

Sam obliges. Dean’s hand around the base of his cock is firmly placed and moves with the speed of Sam’s body, helping to set the pace. The motion is slow at first while Sam adjusts. He quickly gains momentum, gaining direction from the speed at which Dean’s hand helps him move. He’s moaning and begging for release in no time. “Dean, please, I wanna come. Please let go,” he pants, all the while keeping his rhythmic bouncing.

“Not yet, baby,” Dean moans back. “Oh!” he gasps, feeling the coil in his stomach tighten.

Dean’s hand directs Sam to halt his bouncing, and instead Dean thrusts up to meet his brother’s ass. His pace is brutal and the coil in his stomach gets tighter the nearer his release comes. Sam’s making halting whines as Dean bottoms out in him over and over again. “Please, please, please,” he punctuates each thrust.

“You beg so pretty,” Dean responds, his voice also coming out in the rhythm of their fucking. “Okay baby, come for me,” Dean says and lets go of Sam’s cock. Sam’s orgasm is nearly immediate, spurts of come coating their stomachs as his ass clenches down around Dean’s dick, sending Dean over the edge right with him.

Dean’s strength to hold his brother up is gone the moment his orgasm subsides, but at least he gracefully lets them both back down to the mattress. Sam finishes the collapse on top of Dean, panting to regain his breath.

The loud breathing subsides quickly. “You good?” Dean asks, eloquent as always.

Sam sniggers. “Yeah. You?”

“Yup.”

The silent not-quite-cuddling continues for a little longer before the coagulating come starts to get uncomfortable, not to mention the whole deflating dick in ass part. “Well, I’m going to take that shower now,” Dean announces, twisting to ease out of Sam and let his brother curl on his side.

“Save me some hot water,” Sam mumbles sleepily.

Sam’s barely conscious as Dean wipes down his stomach, but he does get a soft sigh of a “Thanks” for his efforts.

When Dean pops back out of the shower, Sam’s fast asleep. He dresses and yoinks the remote from Sam, turning the TV to WSPN just in time to catch the last segment of Dr. Sexy.

Sam wakes up from his nap, groggy and not really ready to be up. Still, he feels gross and needs to shower. After leaving the bathroom, he checks his phone, pleasantly surprised to have received Bobby’s email.

The email is a fairly straight forward list of ingredients and directions, along with a spell and a fairly explicit warning to “be careful ya damned idgits.”

It takes all of ten minutes to paint the markings on the table. Sam’s hand smarts where they had to cut it to get the blood. Thankfully the rest of the ingredients were easily obtained from the trunk of the Impala. Dean comes back inside, silver bowl full of various powders in one hand and candles under his arm.

Sam places the candles at the joints of the symbols, like Bobby’s email described. Dean places the bowl of powders in the center of the table. “What now?” Dean asks Sam who is busy lighting all of the candles.

“Now we say the spell and toss the head in the bowl at the right time, then set it on fire. Easy.”

“Yeah, sounds easy. Is this Latin?” 

“Looks Latin,” Sam replies, capping Dean’s Zippo before handing it back. Dean tucks it in his left pocket.

Sam begins to read. The air is unusually quiet for the first moments of a spell, which only puts them both on edge. They lock eyes apprehensively as Sam begins the next part of the spell. The table begins to shake a bit, and while that should scare the shit out of them for the powerful magic, it only settles them down. Sam even manages a half smile as he forms the words, nodding at Dean to toss the head into the bowl. Dean digs his lighter back out of his pocket and sets fire to the contents. The powder whooshes around the head and the barely-vibrating table becomes violently-vibrating weapon.

Sam quickens his reading, stumbling over the last of the words. His eyes scan over the action in front of him, and even lock again with Dean as they both silently convey their concern over the table seeming to have a mind of its own. Sam finishes the last of the spell. And that’s when the table gives a final vicious wiggle, sending the silver, flaming bowl flying. The contents spill all over the table. Sam, reacting with what can only be described as stupidity, while Dean is slow-motion screaming “no”, reaches to catch the dog head.

Though the fire went out during the sail through the air, the object is still hot when Sam catches it. He instantly releases the head to drop on the floor. His hands bubble and blister, caked in the burnt remnants of the powders. Dean’s at his side, grabbing his wrists to pull them in for a closer look while Sam just stands dumbfounded. “For being so fucking smart, you’re so fucking stupid!” Dean shouts, twisting Sam’s wrists to look at all the damage.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbles, the pain in his hands making him wince. “At least it’s a dead object,” he points out.

“Yeah, you’re lucky,” Dean mutters, releasing Sam’s hands. “If it weren’t, I’d have to drop you off at the shelter. No dogs in the Impala.” The joking is enough for Sam to gather he’s forgiven. “Hang tight, I’ll grab the first aid kit.”

Dean retrieves his keys from his coat, twirling them over his finger as he walks out of the motel room. He’s not even half way to the Impala when he hears Sam scream. “Sammy!” Dean yells, immediately turning around to get back to Sam’s side. But when Dean returns to the room, Sam is withering and twitching on the floor.

Sam’s hands are clutching at his head and he’s curling and uncurling his hips in a weird snake sort of motion. If it weren’t for the bloodcurdling screams, Dean would want to laugh. But then it all just … stops. Like Sam just passed the fuck out for no reason. Dean’s heart sinks. “This can’t be good.”

Dean reaches down to feel for a pulse. It’s still going strong, and his breathing is good. He’s just asleep, Dean tells himself. He’ll be fine. Dean shakes him a few times, but nothing comes of it. He’s passed out strong. Dean watches him for a few moments, but it only proceeds to make him feel useless.

The ringing of his phone is startling in the silence of the room. He doesn’t recognize the number, but it doesn’t stop him from answering with, “Winchester,” automatically.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” he answers impatiently.

“Frank here. Listen, I don’t know what you did, but Jim’s back to human again, and we figure you deserve a thank you.”

“He’s human?” Dean asks dumbly, and then almost slaps himself. Of course Jim’s human again, that’s why they did the stupid ritual in the first place.

“Yeah,” Frank answers, slowly before quickening with, “Thanks again.” Then the line is dead.

Dean looks down at his passed out brother. “This can’t be good.” He covers his face with his free hand before dialing Bobby.

“Singer Salvage,” Bobby answers.

“Bobby, we’re in trouble.”

“What happened, boy?”

“I don’t know. I mean, we followed your ritual to a T and then dumbass tries to catch the head as it flies across the table. He was fine! But then he started screaming and passed out. Please Bobby, tell me it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“I don’t know, Dean. This is exactly why the usual protocol is to strongbox a cursed object.”

“Yeah, well, we didn’t.” He can feel his anger rising, along with his tone. “And it means that Jim’s human again, so I think we made the right call here. But Sam’s not okay right now, so what do we do about that?” Dean yells, unable to keep himself in check.

“Wait it out,” Bobby says, voice of reason as always. “If he’s not awake by morning, bring him my way. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can dig up.”

Dean sighs, trying to collect himself. “God, Bobby. I’m sorry.”

“Shut it, boy. I know you’re worried. Now get some sleep and call me in the morning.”

Dean takes a moment to collect himself. Bobby’s words gave him at least some confidence that Sam will make it through alive. For further reassurance, Dean checks Sam’s vitals again. Heart still strong, breathing still good. Those are good signs, he tells himself. But the lack of waking up raises his anxiety beyond a manageable level.

For a distraction, Dean goes about cleaning up the ritual. The first step is cleaning Sam’s hands from the caked and burnt powders and bandaging them to protect the blisters. “I’m almost glad you’re passed out, you’d be such a whiny bitch right now if you weren’t,” Dean mutters to himself. “But wake up soon, okay?”

Grumbling about Sam’s heft, he lifts his brother into bed, taking off his shoes and pants before going to clean up the rest of the room. He carefully returns the dog head to the container he stole from Jim, not ready to claim it dead just yet after Sam’s dramatics. He drops the candles back to the trunk and wipes the blood and dripped wax off the table. Everything looks as good as it’s going to.

Dean would much rather go to the bar and drink out his anxiety, but can’t get passed the “what ifs” about Sam. So instead, he drops himself on the bed next to Sam and promptly passes out himself.

“Oh, _**fuck**_!” Sam yells, and Dean instantly sits up in bed.

“Sam!” he calls, scrambling to get out of bed. His legs get caught in the blankets.

“No, nononono,” Sam starts chanting. “Dean!” he screams for his brother. “Dean, get in here!”

Dean promptly trips on the covers and falls out of bed. “Coming,” he grunts from the floor, getting to feet and hands before propelling himself towards Sam’s voice in the bathroom. “Are you hurt? What’s going on?” Dean asks along the way before coming to a stop at the cracked door. “Is it okay to come in?”

“Jesus, Dean, now’s not the time for modesty,” Sam frantically squeaks.

This only makes Dean more nervous to open the door. “Sam,” he slows down, not sure he wants to see what his brother is tweaking about. “What’s going on?”

“Dean,” Sam sounds calmer, but Dean knows his brother. “Tell me we can reverse this,” he says and the bathroom door creaks as Sam opens it to reveal himself. He’s naked, but that’s not what initially registers for Dean. Instead, his eyes are drawn to Sam’s head, specifically his ears.

Sam’s ears have morphed. They’re dog ears. They are floppy dog ears, like a puppy German shepherds that haven’t stood up yet. “You have ears,” Dean says, stupidly pointing out the obvious. Sam winces, and turns around to reveal a tail. “And a tail,” he adds on in a slightly more surprised tone. It starts just above the crack of his ass going down just passed his knees, with fluffy brown-black fur.

“Dean, we have to reverse this, we just have to. I can’t go in public like this!” Sam screeches, hands gesturing wildly at his ears and tail. His ears stand for a moment before flopping right back down. 

“Okay, calm down,” Dean says, hand held out flat like one might settle a wiggling puppy.

“Calm down?” Sam’s eyebrows rise in surprise anger and then narrow again. His ears flatten back against his hair. “Fuck you, go fuck yourself, you’re a fucking asshole. Calm down? I’ll give you calm down!” Sam slams the bathroom door shut. Dean might be imagining it, but there’s a distinct growl at the end of Sam’s sentence.

“Yes, because that’s what’ll really help us right now,” Dean shouts through the door, pounding on it with his fist once for good measure. There’s a yipe and a whimper from inside the bathroom. He waits a moment to see if Sam will come out on his own, but when it’s clear he isn’t coming, Dean sighs, letting some of his frustration go with it. “Look, I’m sorry, Sam. Come out. We’ll figure it out.”

“Go away!” Sam whimpers.

“Fine!” Dean’s anger flairs right back up and he pounds again on the door.

Dean retreats to the main portion of the motel room again. Not quite sure what to do with himself, he takes the weapons bag and begins cleaning them to wait Sam out. Every now and then he calls out things like “Done being a little bitch yet?” or “Is you’re tantrum going to be over by lunch time?” or “You’re going to get hungry eventually” or “Pizza or Chinese?” but Sam doesn’t respond. He settles on pizza. All the weapons are cleaned and returned to their proper locations before the delivery boy arrives. Dean pays him and settles in to watch bad TV. “Pizza’s here,” he calls to Sam, but his brother still doesn’t come out.

The pizza is cold and Dean’s almost succumbed to a nap in front of the TV before he hears the squeak of the bathroom door. “About time, asshole. I gotta pee,” he says, but doesn’t move to get up.

“What are we going to do?” Sam asks. He’s now dressed in a pair of boxers, but they’re low slung to not snug against his tail, which is tucked between his legs. The floppy ears complement his floppy hair and just complete the pitiful me package he has going on.

Dean wants to pity his brother. But pity will get them nowhere. “Well, maybe if you weren’t so ingrained in that pity party? You’d have thought to call Bobby,” Dean suggests, standing, and shoving passed Sam to get to the bathroom. “Eat up, then we’ll call.”

When Dean returns, Sam’s sitting on the bed closest to the door, tail curled around to lay next to his left thigh. Dean chooses the opposite bed and sits, facing Sam before pulling out his phone and dialing Bobby. “Sam’s part dog now, please tell me you have good news,” Dean says by way of greeting.

They can almost hear the flinch on the other side of the line. “Sorry, boys.” Sam’s expression sinks, ears drooping further than normal, hair flopping with them. “There ain’t any good news.”

“Bobby, I’ve got ears and a tail, tell me there’s something we can do.”

“Look, I warned you. The number one reason we strongbox cursed objects is for this reason. Your object was dead the second it cooled down from the ritual. You touched it when it was still hot, but most of the curse was burned out at that point. Be thankful you don’t have four legs to go with that tail.”

“Thanks for the silver lining, but being thankful can’t be our only option here,” Sam practically begs.

“Sam, the only thing you can do is find a similar cursed object, finish the curse, and then break the cursed object. And even that might not break the original curse. I’m sorry, but that’s it. That’s your option.”

There’s silence for a long moment. “So what are we going to do?” Sam asks, resigned and quiet.

“I’ll keep digging,” Bobby says, soft and gentle as his gravelly voice will allow. “But, Sam, I think you’re stuck.”

“Okay, well, let us know anything you find,” Sam mumbles.

“Of course, kid,” Bobby says. “Keep in touch. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.” There’s a pause and then the line is dead.

Sam snuffles in the silence and wipes his nose with his arm, refusing to actually full out cry. “This sucks,” he states.

“Oh come on,” Dean counters. “It’s not so bad,” his tone unconvincing.

“Really, Dean?” he snaps. “How is this ‘not so bad’? I’ve got dog ears and a tail, I cannot go out in public like this. This is about as bad as it gets,” Sam growls, literally growls. Dean backs off from Sam’s anger.

“Okay, so it’s pretty bad,” he placates. “But we’ll stick a beanie on your head and no one will see the ears. And as long as your tail doesn’t wag, pants would do a great job of hiding it.”

“Oh my god. ‘As long as my tail doesn’t wag’? Who would have ever thought that’d be a sentence you’d have to say,” Sam says miserably, hiding his face in his hands. He seems to have shrunken in on himself, and god damnit if his posture doesn’t scream kicked puppy.

Dean lets out a sigh and plops his face in his hands. He’s got no idea how to make this suck less for Sam. He wipes them downward and props them under his chin, elbows resting on his knees. “You know, I used to say you had puppy dog eyes. Just kinda sucks that it’s real now.” Sam gives a chuff of a laugh at the admission. “I’m sure that whole act will be even easier now with the droopy ears.”

“Shut up,” Sam says, but at least there’s a grin behind it now, and his pose has less abused dog in it.

“Besides, the whole package is kind of cute.” Dean stands and takes the step to get to the other bed, motioning for Sam to scoot over a bit. Sam obliges and Dean pulls him close. 

“Gross!” he protests. “What if I get fleas now?”

“You’re worried about fleas?” Dean asks incredulously. “I’m more worried about you getting wet dog stink in my car.”

…

_Unusual happenings in the state of Mississippi tonight: Many people have reported various pets have gone missing, only to be replaced by various naked humans. Something must be in the water, folks. Stay tuned at 10 for more details._

**Author's Note:**

> I will be writing various timestamps for this fic. I'll be putting them as individual stories within the series, so subscribe to the series if you liked the concept! I can't say how quick I'll be for updating, but if you've got any sort of suggestion or prompt, feel free to drop by my inbox on [tumblr](http://pornographicrainbowlegs.tumblr.com/ask).


End file.
